


Warmth

by Emmbee_89



Series: An Ineffable Christmas [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, No Angst, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), nothing but fluff, schedule a dentist visit quick!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:14:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmbee_89/pseuds/Emmbee_89
Summary: Crowley gets cold. Aziraphale warms him up.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: An Ineffable Christmas [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570000
Comments: 2
Kudos: 72





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be scheduling my own dentist visit ASAP. Hopefully, you will, too. XD
> 
> Merry All the December Holidays!

_Somewhere in the South Downs  
_ _2020_

Crowley hated the cold. He was, in a deep-down part of his fundamental nature, a snake, and had a snake’s cold-blooded inability to function in the cold.

In years past, he would’ve hibernated. Traded his usual silk sheets for cotton or fleece, pulled out his thickest, warmest blanket — a knitted monstrosity he’d never be caught dead admitting to having but that he secretly cherished because it had been a present from Aziraphale during the demon’s first winter in London — and slept the cold away. If he did have to get up in the winter, if there was a job that needed done and couldn’t be put off until warmer weather, he’d bundle up, get the job done as quickly as possible, and go straight back to his warm little nest.

But this was the first winter in the cottage in the South Downs, the first winter living with his angel, and Crowley didn’t want to dampen Aziraphale’s holiday spirit by hiding for months under the fluffy comforter on their bed.

He wasn’t much for the holidays — he’d mostly slept through them for the last three centuries — but Aziraphale was so pleased with it all, so happy for every silly little human ritual he could perform around the house and the town, and Crowley could never sleep through his angel’s happiness.

He needed Aziraphale’s smile more than the warmth of a pile of blankets.

But that didn’t keep him from feeling the cold, and that didn’t stop his corporation from reacting to it as it always had.

They’d spent the day walking through the village, Aziraphale chattering excitedly about every strand of lights and holiday wreath on every house. Crowley tried to pay attention, tried to keep his smile from slipping or his feet from lagging, but it was cold, and the perpetual salty damp of the air clung to his sleeves and burrowed through his scarf into his skin.

By the time the sky was getting dark and they headed for home, Crowley couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be warm.

Aziraphale paused as they left the village proper and turned onto the cottage’s private lane. The happy hum of his voice faltered as he noticed Crowley lagging a bit behind; his forehead creased into the start of a frown. “Are you all right, dear?”

“Hmm?” Even his thoughts were getting sluggish. Crowley knew the question was an important one — Aziraphale wouldn’t be frowning if it weren’t important — but the words buzzed without meaning between his ears.

“Oh, you’re…” Aziraphale doubled back the couple of steps and put a hand on Crowley’s arm. The warmth of it, even through his jacket, scortched. “My dear, you’re shivering!”

Crowley shrugged. “S’nothing. Cold out here.”

“You could have said something.”

He shrugged again. Standing still was just reminding him of how nice it would be to not be standing at all. He’d never thought the long gravel drive up to the cottage had ever looked so comfortable. “It’s nothing, angel,” he repeated, with a little less slur in his voice. “I just don’t much like the cold.”

And, as if to prove his point, a shiver rattled through his body.

“You don’t…” Aziraphale’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. “Oh. Oh, darling. Let’s get you back inside right away!”

A click of fingers, a brief and disorienting whirl of air, and they were back in their living room. Aziraphale whisked off Crowley’s damp jacket and scarf, then pointed to the couch. “Do sit down, my dear. I’ll fetch some blankets, and maybe something warm to drink?”

Crowley slouched into the sofa cushions but then wondered if that was revealing too much and scowled without heat back at Aziraphale. “There’s no need to fuss, angel.”

Aziraphale blew out a petulant little breath but otherwise ignored him and hurried toward the bedroom.

“What’re you … don’t strip the bed!”

But the order, probably hampered by the fact that Crowley didn’t think he’d be able to stand again if he tried, came too late; Aziraphale had already reemerged from the bedroom carrying the bed’s blanket and duvet. He tucked them both around Crowley’s slouched shoulders, and if Crowley didn’t protest as much as he could’ve, well, that was for him alone to know.

“Now. Hot cocoa, I think, with a nice splash of rum.” The angel bustled off again, this time toward the kitchen.

Crowley burrowed a little further into the blankets. He was too cold to warm them up with his own body heat, but the weight of them was still pleasant, a reminder that at least if he lost consciousness now, he wouldn’t wake up in the spring having slept in the dirt.

That had happened once, in 1256. He wasn’t keen on repeating the experience.

A few minutes later, Aziraphale returned carrying two steaming cups of cocoa. He offered one to Crowley, who wrapped his too-cold fingers tight around the too-hot mug and reveled in the pain of it.

“What else do you need?”

He peeked up at his angel through the steam wafting across his face. The concern hadn’t quite smoothed away from Aziraphale’s brow, and Crowley couldn’t swallow down the goofy smile that inched across his lips. “Just an angel to keep me warm.”

He meant to say it all smooth and sensual, with an edge like a temptation, but mostly it came out sounding soft and lovesick.

Because, as he’d come to realize this last year, he really was That Guy.

But it made Aziraphale smile, a gentle smile that was only ever for him, a fond little expression that warmed Crowley faster than any mug of hot cocoa — even laced with rum as this one was.

And Aziraphale sat down beside him on the sofa, set down his own mug on the end table, and held out his arms.

Crowley tilted into him, squirming a little until he could curl up between his legs and nuzzle into his neck. Aziraphale pulled the blankets up around both of them now and settled one arm around Crowley’s waist, the other to carding softly through his hair.

Crowley shivered, and this time, it wasn’t the cold raising goosebumps down his arms.


End file.
